Aliens & Anorexia
To empty and empty again – to treat my body like a wide chute through which rain and dark shapes rattle – this continues to be a radical act for me. We lost another girl last week to potato chips and dip. She won’t be coming back, not after that. Today: celery with peanut butter looks like giving up to me. I can go to the toilet but I am accompanied. Suzanne sits in a chair while I pee. She talks about her daughter: twenty-one and loooooves to shop: loves pashminas, loves jewel tones— soft arms draped in sapphire, emerald green to match her eyes. It makes things harder when someone watches you pee: it makes you hurt somewhere new. Like your body is a space suit you could lift your soul out of and drift away from but this woman watching you pee she would hold on to the tiniest wisp of you, she would.
Megan Jones is a poet whose work can be found in Poetry is Dead, SAD Mag, Lemonhound, PRISM International and the anthology The City Series: Vancouver from Frog Hollow Press. She lives on unceded territory of the Musqueam, Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations (Vancouver, BC).
Poems! In a chapbook!
Arrived November 2017.
Done and gone!
Purchases: From the Rahila's Ghost Press website. $10.
Treating your body like a wide chute.
The copyrights of all poems included in the series remain with their authors, and are reprinted with the permission of the publishers.